


Ricochet

by redscudery



Series: Scudery's Saturday Night Fic Fest [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Military Kink, Mutual Masturbation, Ping-Pong, Semi-Public Sex, Sneaking Around, Spanking, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnlockedness said "ping-pong kink" and here I am. </p><p>Sherlock sneaks them back in to the games room because he just can't get those ping-pong paddles out of his head. John obliges him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ricochet

“Sherlock, what, exactly, are we doing in these barracks again?”

“Research. Shh.”

“I don’t believe you. We just solved a major case. We solved this case  months ago. You haven’t eaten in two days, and I don’t remember when you slept last.”

John was interrupted by Sherlock pushing him back against the wall with one arm.

“Wait. We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

No answer. A tug on his arm, and John was moving again, through a heavy oak door and into a … games room? There were dartboards on the wall, a couple of card tables, a ping-pong table in the centre. 

“Start looking for anything unusual.”

John worked his way around the room, checking the walls, the furniture, and the floor conscientiously. After a few minutes, though, he looked up and saw that Sherlock wasn’t looking at anything at all, but rather standing in the middle of the room, holding a ping-pong paddle. He was smacking it against his hand, not absent-mindedly, but with purpose; watching him, John could see that he was hitting a different spot each time, frowning in concentration. 

“Is that what you’re looking for?” Sherlock started at the sound of his voice.

“It might be.” 

Another smack, this time against the skin of Sherlock’s wrist. 

John watched, fascinated, as redness bloomed up under the pale skin. He reached out and touched it, letting the heat soak in to his fingertips. 

Sherlock’s sharp exhalation caught his attention. 

“You like that.” Taking the paddle from Sherlock’s unresisting hand, John hefted it, running his thumb over the textured rubber. 

“I should smack you with it. You’d deserve it.” He raised it, mock-threatening, and was surprised when he saw Sherlock’s pupils dilate. He moved it forward and tapped Sherlock on the cheek, less gently than he’d intended. 

Sherlock didn’t move. John tapped the other side. 

“Should I do it again?” 

“Yes.” It was barely spoken.

John reached out again, took Sherlock’s left hand, hit the fingers, the palm, the sensitive flesh under the thumb, then the wrist. He did the same on the right, slowly, deliberately, mercilessly.

When he’d finished, Sherlock was breathing hard, and John could see the outline of his erection through his trousers.

“This is what we came here for, isn’t it?”

A brief nod.

“Very well, then. Take off your jacket and your shirt. Stand at ease, if you like, since we’re in a military establishment.”

Sherlock, quivering slightly, did as he was told. John watched him, waiting until he settled into something like calm, before he used the paddle again, on Sherlock’s torso this time. The sound of the paddle as it hit the smooth skin of Sherlock’s stomach was oddly satisfying. 

John took the time to watch Sherlock’s similarly satisfying reaction-blush on face and on belly, a soft exhale, a twitch of his cock. This was going to be lovely. 

He worked carefully over Sherlock’s front, paying attention to his nipples and his upper arms. Then, unclasping Sherlock’s hands, John worked down his back, short strokes along his ribcage, harder above his hips. 

Twenty hits in, John was hard and Sherlock was trembling, sweat dewing his skin. John ran the smooth wood of the handle down Sherlock’s spine, stopping at his trousers.

“I know you want to feel this on your arse, Sherlock, but first I want to watch you take your trousers off. Turn around, and slowly, slowly, unbuckle your belt.”

Sherlock did, hands shaking, then unzipped his trousers. John’s mouth watered as Sherlock’s large thumbs slid into his pants, brushing his hipbones. When Sherlock’s cock sprang free, John took the paddle and tapped it, first to one side, then the other. Then, he drew the edge of the paddle along the hard underside from the base to the tip. Sherlock groaned. 

“Turn around.”

“John. John.” Not begging so much as invocation. 

“Put your elbows on the table.” 

Sherlock complied, a sweep of long, lean muscle and lushness. 

John wound up this time, aiming for the bottom curve where buttock meets thigh. The crack echoed through the room. Blow after blow fell, and soon Sherlock’s arse was as flushed as his back. The movement of his hips bucking forward, then back after the paddle made contact was crumbling John’s self control, already frayed by the increasing volume of Sherlock’s groans. He gripped the paddle more tightly and focused, working his way from the outside in this time, ending with a smack right at the back, the most vulnerable part, red and stinging.

“Please, John.” That was begging, and really, it was all John had been waiting for. He set the paddle down and unzipped his own trousers, slowly. Pushing them down only slightly, he approached Sherlock, who was still leaning over the ping-pong table, trembling. John grasped his hips, and slotted his clothed erection between Sherlock’s buttocks; Sherlock bowed back against him, seeking contact.

John rocked forward again, running his hands up Sherlock’s ribs and then back down along his belly. He felt the intake of Sherlock’s breath as he skimmed close to his cock, close enough to feel its heat and urgency but not close enough to touch. 

John let go, stepped back, and pulled his own erection out of his pants. He licked a broad stripe up his hand and wet his cock, then spread Sherlock’s legs slightly and settled himself between them again. His cock slid along the underside of Sherlock’s. The drag of skin on skin was nearly unbearable, and John closed his eyes; Sherlock sighed as they made contact, rubbing against John as well as the angle of his body would allow.

John got as close as he could, feeling Sherlock’s buttocks spread as he pushed up against him. He licked his hand again and reached around, grasping their cocks as well as he could. He moved against Sherlock, stroking at the same time. It wasn’t quite enough, not enough pressure, not enough slickness, but it was hot, so hot, with Sherlock’s reddened arse hot against him and Sherlock’s low breathy exhalations in his ears. 

“Do you like this, Sherlock? Do you like being bent over this table?” His own voice was loud in the silence, and he lowered it a little, leaning as close as he could to Sherlock’s back without breaking contact at the crucial point. 

“I know you do. You love the sting. Every part of you feels my hand on your cock, now, doesn’t it?” 

“Ye…yessss.” 

“Say it, then. Say what you want.”

“Can’t.” Sherlock’s voice was almost inaudible.

“Say it or I take my hand away.” John loosened his grip, just a bit. 

“I…oh…John, I wanted you to hit me.” 

John rewarded him by pushing his cock in closer, then squeezing their erections together.

“Your hand…more…”

“Like this?” John realigned his hand, searching for more friction, a better angle, and stroked. 

“More. Please.”

John pressed harder with his hips, gripped Sherlock’s waist with his free hand. Sherlock was shaking, he was shaking, and the urgency was getting to both of them. John felt the dampness at the tip of Sherlock’s cock, and bucked against him harder; he started to feel light-headed. 

Sherlock shifted his weight, then, reached down, and wrapped his larger hand around John’s. They struggled to find a rhythm, but then it was just right; they moved together, the pleasure building inexorably. 

One, two more strokes, and John came with a grunt. Everything is suddenly slipperier, and before the biggest shocks of pleasure had passed, Sherlock’s orgasm hit him and he collapsed on the table, his body temporarily out of his control, damp with sweat. 

John let go of their still-hard cocks, and rested his hands on the table and his forehead on Sherlock’s back.

“Mmmmmm..” Sherlock sighs, and slumps down.

They stay like that for a few minutes, breathing each other in, savouring the closeness, before Sherlock pushes up and turns around, taking John in his arms. He presses his plush lips to John’s, then slides his tongue inside and tastes him, slowly. John tilts his head back and opens to Sherlock, letting him set the pace now, content.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Echo It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952081) by [mugenmine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugenmine/pseuds/mugenmine)




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